The corridor was lit by a kerosene lamp. Beneath it gently snored the watchman, a copy of the Daily Aplanapian spread out over his paunch. The door was just beyond.
Shoes in hand, Hap sidled along the hall. He realized he had to step over the watchman’s outstretched legs. Whatever you’re dreaming about, he thought, keep dreaming. The splintery floor gave a sad creak as Hap lifted his foot. He froze. No reaction. He stepped over.
As he did, he noticed part of a headline:
BLUE S
The rest was hidden in a fold of the paper. With painful care, Hap lifted the top page. Suddenly, the whole newspaper cascaded to the floor. The old man’s eyes fluttered, as if deciding between waking and sleep. Then they closed again. Seconds later, Hap was outside.
He scanned the paper while he tied his laces.
BLUE SHOE TO CLOSE
A cobbler’s shop that gained fame throughout the three-mountain region is slated to close next week, after its primary attraction, a remarkable gem-encrusted shoe, lost its brilliance and failed to perform as expected.
The Blue Shoe, as the shop is known, has been operated for many years by a cobbler who gave his name as Grel. Until recently, it was the most popular establishment in Aplanap, attracting the curious from as far away as …
Hap glanced at the top of the page. This was last week’s paper! The shop had probably closed already. Grel and Rauf would be out on the street.
Before long, they’d be begging!
Hap shoved his fists in his pockets and set out briskly in the direction of headquarters, the crusted snow crunching under his shoes. He was going to rescue Sophia, and he was going to rescue his father, and he would have to be quick about it. Grel was in danger.
Sixteen
GREL WAS INDEED in danger, but then so were many citizens of Aplanap. You remember the bustling shops, warm breezes, and bright flower boxes of a few weeks ago. Well, now instead of tourists, solitary souls huddled in doorways, collars turned up against a gritty wind. Trash sat in sad piles by the curb, with no one to collect it. The curiosity shop remained open, just barely, with Sophia’s parents reducing prices and then reducing them again. The cuckoo clock makers fared worse, and the jewelers worst of all. Who but Ludmilla the Large could afford rings and necklaces? And she never paid.
Weather was blamed for the town’s sudden decline. In the weeks since Hap’s departure, the wind had sharpened and spun around from new angles, whipping up great swaths of sand from the shore of Doubtful Bay and swirling them high over Aplanap. Citizens stayed indoors to avoid getting sand in their eyes and down the back of their necks. It goes without saying the quince crop was ruined.
At last, after two days, the sun came out, and people began sweeping the sand from their stoops and scooping it out of their geranium boxes. They shook their heads in wonder at the strange weather they’d had. Some even made jokes about it.
The more superstitious, poking their noses out the door and sniffing the air, blamed everything on the blue shoe. Especially, they blamed that little sneak thief Hap Barlo—no better than his father—who had stolen a gem from the shoe’s heel. What could you expect after that except bad weather and fat ravens circling the trash piles? And beggars! Yes, there were now beggars in Aplanap, with no one to arrest them. There seemed no point. If you arrested two, three more appeared in their place.
The following week, when the weather was fading as a topic of conversation, the thermometer suddenly dipped and the winds again turned angry. The citizens were angry, too. After all, one expected unpleasantness on Mount Xexnax, to the north, but not in fair Aplanap, which had always been protected by the taller peaks around it. The temperature fell and fell, no apologies, and the winds switched around eleven ways before dinner. A blizzard of sand zigzagged through town.
This time it was worse than before. When the storm ended, at midnight a day and a half later, the town was buried up to its doorknobs.
Jon Hartpence, Sophia’s brother, had been kept awake that night by the wind. Suddenly, he didn’t hear it anymore. It was as if someone had reached out and switched it off. Puzzled, he went to the window. Down the block, the banners hung lifeless from the towers of the Town Hall—no hint of a breeze anywhere. Overhead, a brilliant moon laid silver over the sand-filled streets. Never had the world been so quiet.
Jon was about to turn back to bed when he noticed a short, dark figure limping through the swollen dunes covering the sidewalk.
Who would be out at this time of night? A beggar, no doubt, but who was there to beg from? A ratty blanket covered the poor fellow’s head and trailed along behind, leaving a glimmering track, like a snail’s. A trick of moonlight, no doubt.
Go home, old man, Jon thought. This is not a night to be out.
The creature hobbled on, leaning heavily on a short crutch, while behind him the mysterious trail of silver began to spread, like midnight water in a boat’s wake.
The moon stared down with single-eyed intensity.
The beggar disappeared.
Next morning, the sun rose clear and sharp. People looked out in astonishment. Never had anyone seen such blinding beauty! They’d been expecting sand. Instead, all the houses, gardens, and streets shone like the inside of a diamond. There was no diamond, of course, much to Ludmilla’s disappointment, but clearly, something hard, smooth, and brilliant had coated everything in sight— indeed, welded it in place.
The mayor immediately sent out forecasters, geologists, astronomers, and anyone with an opinion to examine the strange substance. They tapped it, magnified it, subjected it to caustic chemicals. At length, they came together to discuss their findings. They tugged thoughtfully on their beards, then nodded and tugged their beards some more. This went on most of the afternoon. Finally, they delivered their verdict: The town of Aplanap was encased in glass.
Impossible! It had to be ice of some sort. And yet, as the temperature rose from cold to cool, and from cool to faintly warm, there was no sign of melting. Sparkling glassicles bearded the postboxes. Trees wore elaborate necklaces, each twig so slick that birds slipped off as soon as they tried to alight. There were even several beggars found crouched against buildings, their cups extended. They had turned into exhibits of beggars. Glassed-in exhibits.
Many theories were offered. The most frequently heard was that silica in the blowing sand had fused in the atmosphere and returned to earth in the form of glass. But the common people stuck to a simpler explanation: It was magic. Bad magic.
Many prayers were said that day, even a few to the goddess Xexnax, in whom no one had believed for nine hundred years.
The children of Aplanap paid no attention to all this. They were delighted and raced outside, only to find themselves sliding helplessly down the street, unable to stop. The old games, like tag, weren’t possible, because no one could stand up long enough to play them. No matter. The air soon filled with sounds of hilarity as new games were invented, like Slide and Sneak.
Rag, the youngest son of quince-pickers, did not join in. Life for him had turned serious ever since he’d glanced outside and seen that his pet goat—the family’s only source of milk—had turned to glass in the front yard. Indeed, for many poor families, food of any sort was hard to find.
Ordinary life came to a standstill. Postmen couldn’t get up the tilted streets to deliver mail. Firewood couldn’t be had for the bakers’ ovens. The sick slid right past the hospital. Even the tax collectors found it impossible to make their rounds.
Ludmilla was furious. Like others, she blamed Hap Barlo for the town’s troubles.
“Why didn’t we hang the boy when we had the chance?” she fumed. “Give those ravens something to peck at!”
“Now, now, dear,” said the mayor with the endless name. “We did what we could. We sent him to his death, didn’t we?”
“He got off easy,” she humphed.
The mayor could see the sweat lines in the creases of her neck, a sign that his wife was in a dangerous mood. “We should lo
ok on the bright side,” he said, attempting a smile. “The news from Mr. Slag is good.”
“You believe that thug?”
“We hired him.”
“Right out of prison.”
“He has yet to disappoint us. And he says he’s located the gem. The surveyor has pinpointed it.”
“I’ll believe that,” replied the mountainous woman, “when I am holding it in my hand.”
“It might take two hands. That’s what the legend says.”
His wife’s tiny eyes brightened in spite of her. “You think so?”
“That’s what they say. Of course, there are all kinds of legends. For instance, whoever owns it lives forever.”
“I could get used to that.”
“You’d have a long time to get used to it. You’d also know everything.”
“Would I really?”
“Everything in the world.”
“All right. But about the jewel—is it very bright?”
“Blinding.”
“And is it really blue?”
“As the summer sky.”
Ludmilla’s face settled into folds of greed. So the Xexnax diamond, known as the Great Blue, was not just a story after all. Modern measurements had calculated its exact location in the heart of that heartless mountain. Within days, it would be hers!
Her lips twisted into a wormy smile. “You’re sure it’s not made of glass?”
“Pure diamond.”
The smile widened.
Her husband beamed at her.
“Come here, you naughty boy,” she purred, lowering her eyelids demurely. “Give your Luddy a kiss.”
At the other end of town from the mayor’s mansion stood the curio shop, Xexnax Knickknacks. There was no kissing going on there. Even the house had an unkissed look. After all, when you’re constantly fighting, you’re much too busy to fix a sagging door or replace a window.
Jon and Sophia’s parents quarreled all the time. They quarreled about whether Mrs. Hartpence’s tea was hot enough or whether Mr. Hartpence’s cocoa was cool enough. They disagreed about what to charge for souvenir mugs and whether to lower their prices again and where to place the racks of picture postcards.
One evening at dinner, some weeks after their daughter’s disappearance, they were discussing whether or not to change the shop’s doorbell from ding-ding to the more authoritative ding-dong when Mrs. Hartpence chanced to look up and notice that a chair was empty.
“Where’s Sophia?”
Jon looked up from his boiled cabbage. “You mean you just noticed now?”
“Noticed what?”
“Sophia’s gone.”
“Impossible! I just saw her …” Her voice trailed off. “When was it?”
Sophia’s father frowned. “It couldn’t have been more than …”
“Father,” said Jon, “she’s been gone for weeks!”
“What!” cried the woman. “Poor baby! What happened?”
Jon’s headache was kicking up again. He massaged his skull with his fingers.
“I helped her sneak into the prison. I showed her where the air ducts were, and she crawled inside. Do you have any of that headache tea left?”
“You helped her what?” cried Mother. “Why?”
“She wanted to save Hap.”
“Hap’s in prison?”
“He was.” Jon massaged his skull harder than before. “You didn’t know that? Everybody knew that!”
“Nobody tells us anything. Do you think she’s still in there?”
“In prison? No. I crawled in the next day looking for her. Nothing but dust and mouse droppings.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” demanded Mrs. Hartpence.
“I couldn’t get your attention.”
“That’s silly! I always want to know what my children are doing.”
Jon was so amazed by this he didn’t know what to say. His head had begun to throb.
“Well,” said Jon’s father, “I certainly care. You could have told me!”
“Are you saying,” said the woman, “that you care more than I do?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“It certainly is not. Quite the opposite!”
“That’s outrageous!”
“Admit it. You never cared about your children.”
“Untrue!”
“True!”
Neither of them noticed that their son had quietly gotten up from his chair and left the room.
The wooden pieces clacked on the little table outside the cobbler’s shop. Grel’s concentration was off, and besides, the table was coated in glass. With the slightest breeze, the pieces slid to the ground.
“Come on, old man, try again,” said his friend the watchmaker after beating Grel a third time.
“It’s no use.” Grel looked down at Rauf. The dog’s tail waved feebly. “It’s bad enough I don’t have food for myself, but Rauf—look at his ribs!”
“Dogs will always find scraps,” said the watchmaker. But he didn’t sound convinced. People were eating scraps these days.
Grel took his pipe out of his mouth and stared into its empty bowl. Who had money for tobacco?
“At least you still have customers,” said his friend.
“True.” Grel tapped his chin thoughtfully with the pipestem. He didn’t need to add that very few of these customers paid him. The shop, in fact, was officially closed. He was allowed to stay on because of one very important customer: Ludmilla the Large, a woman whose fascination with footwear nearly equaled her desire for diamonds.
She was an expensive customer to have. She demanded the softest leathers and finest buckles but was not obliged to pay for them. The arrangement was supposed to save Hap, but it had not saved Hap, and it was ruining Grel.
“Come on,” said the watchmaker, setting up the board. “Another game of Plog.”
The game had scarcely begun when they spied a boy struggling up the slick street in their direction. For a breath-catching moment, Grel thought it was Hap coming home at last, but then he realized this boy was taller. In fact, it was the mayor’s nephew, the same snide seventeen-year-old who long ago had tried to steal the blue shoe. There was no danger he’d want to steal it now.
The boy fell hard, then grabbed on to a glass-coated streetlamp and fell again. Finally, bruised and out of breath, he arrived at the shop.
“Good afternoon,” said Grel.
“Likely story,” said the youngster.
“What brings you to see us?”
“What do you think? Aunt Ludmilla’s shoes, of course. The last pair was totally unacceptable.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Sorry my eye!”
“I did my best,” he answered truthfully.
“Your best! Did Auntie ask for gold buckles or not?”
“She did.”
“You gave her brass. Brass!”
“I had no gold.”
“Well, you were to get it!”
“Brass was hard enough to get.”
The boy drew himself up. “In other words,” he said, “you have broken the agreement.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“And you intend to continue breaking your agreement in the future.”
“Well, if she requires gold…”
“In that case …” The boy took out a roll of parchment, somewhat wrinkled from his several falls on the way over. “In that case,” he said again, and cleared his throat, “I am instructed to deliver this notice of eviction.” He handed the document to Grel, who passed it to the watchmaker.
“You read it,” said the cobbler.
The watchmaker unrolled the notice. “ ‘It having been established that Grel the cobbler, known as the Party of the First Part …’ ”
“Yes, yes. Skip to the bottom.”
“It says you need to get out by noon tomorrow.”
“Noon tomorrow,” repeated Grel.
“That’s right!” crowed the mayor’s nephew. �
�So you’d better get cracking, old man!”
Grel ignored him. “Well,” he said, patting Rauf’s head, “that’s that. Shall we finish our game of Plog?”
Seventeen
I MUST TAKE a moment and apologize to young Hap Barlo, who deserves better treatment. Blame it on that newspaper article, which sent us back to Aplanap and all that was happening there. As a result, poor Hap was left standing in the snow at midnight with inadequate shoes.
Midnight on Mount Xexnax is not pleasant in the best of shoes. To make matters worse, Hap wasn’t at all sure which way to go. There were half a dozen buildings in sight, all of them dark, with only an occasional lamp in an occasional window. With freezing hands rubbing his stinging ears, Hap came to a fieldstone house with a porch and a flight of wooden steps. Yes, there above the door were the carved letters XCC. He scanned the building, trying to figure the best way in.
The breath suddenly caught in his throat. He thought he’d seen a movement under the staircase, a shadow among shadows. It could have been a trick of the moon, which had just emerged from a cloud and was flooding the snow with ghostly light.
There it was again.
A figure emerged from under the steps. He was beckoning.
With nowhere to hide, Hap decided to go forward.
“Quick!” the stranger called in a whisper. “Out of the light!”
Hap stepped into the building’s shadow.
“Thought you’d come,” said the other. He seemed to be winking, but then Hap saw that his left eye was permanently closed.
“Markie!”
“Shh.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Stopping you.”
Hap was stunned.
“But how did you—?”
“No questions. The building’s protected all kinds of ways. Your friend didn’t know that.”
“My friend?”
“She climbed in a window last night and got caught.”
Hap was about to speak, but Markie stopped him. “Come,” he said. He followed the line of the house to the edge, then crept along the side, always keeping to the shadows.
At the rear of the building, behind a brake of scrubby trees, a path led off into the darkness.
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